It's All Your Fault
by xKaseix
Summary: One-shot (drabble? perhaps) largely inspired by "The Walk" by Imogen Heap. Mickey contemplating the disastrous ending of him and Ian. Warnings for explicit language. Not a happy fic.


**This is actually something I wrote long ago before creating my account on here and I decided I should finally post this. Please listen to "The Walk" by Imogen Heap as you read this, or at least pull up the lyrics. The song fits them so well...**

**Warnings: Language, in-character Mickey.**

Milkovichs should not be feeling like this. They also shouldn't enjoy another guy's cock going up their ass but that rule is breakable if I'm careful. Except at the end, the reason why whatever it was that had been between Firecrotch and I came to a halt, was because I forgot that. I let him squirm even deeper under my skin and we were fucking boyfriends in nearly every sense of the word, letting down all our walls and relaxing completely in the other's presence. Stupid. Fatal. Mistake. Only worse, because my bastard father chose this as punishment instead of shooting us both in the head that day.

Gallagher was gone now. Finally accomplished his dream and pissed off to the army to get his ass shot at in one of the many -stan nations. Good, when I do fuck it up with the Commie skank-and I will-he'll be unreachable. Still...What if he doesn't come back? What if one of those bullets actually hits its target? What if he never wants to return? Why the fucking hell do I even care?

We're over, there's nothing left. I shouldn't have started fucking him again after my second trip to Juvie, but I couldn't help it. As much as I want to keep in some sort of contact, it would only hurt us both in the end and I have to be on my best Milkovich behavior until Terry relaxes and declares me "cured of being a fagot".

Before Firecrotch, I was doing well: shoplifting for an occupation, beating the shit out of people as a hobby, and fucking random guys in alleys when I needed release. It was as well as I'll ever be doing; I was never caught before Gallagher.

I never wanted to feel like this. I never wanted to feel that surge of happiness when wide, seemingly innocent eyes met my own harsh blues. I never wanted to listen attentively as that voice spewed random, meaningless bullshit.

Every single time I close my eyes I visualize his face when he begged me not to go through with the charade of a marriage, when he stood and watched as that slut took my hand and we said our vows. He would never know how much I wanted to throw the bitch's hand off mine, run to him, grab his instead, and get the hell out of there; such actions would be suicide. Fuck, I shouldn't have screwed him in the back before the wedding, but how could anyone help themselves? It was fucking Gallagher.

I never wanted to feel like this. I never wanted to have stupid shit memorized like his birthday, his favorite present, his best memory, his favorite food, his favorite color, etc. I never wanted to be so completely at someone's mercy, where my happiness and peace of mind depended on theirs.

The part that truly, honestly frightens me-though I would never admit it aloud-was how happy both of us were, and the knowledge that I will never have that again. In the end, I didn't want to fight it, I wanted to simply be with him and somewhere safe, where the world couldn't touch us. Fuck, when did I become so gay?

Gallagher, the cocky bastard with his shit-eating grin, had taken control of me. Everything I did became not for me but with his best interests in mind. Every thought always had some connection to him. When I realized this, I couldn't force myself to fight it. And then it all came crashing down around me.

I could barely sleep. Time seemed frozen. I didn't drink, fight, steal, get high, or anything that I used to do, that I used to enjoy. I rolled out of bed at a reasonable hour, worked a few shifts at the Kash and Grab, went home, and watched television until my exhaustion insisted I stumble to my bedroom before collapsing on the bed. My "wife" left me alone, rarely saying a word to me and sleeping in what used to be Mandy's room. My sister had somehow repaired her relationship with Lip and left with him, which I was glad of because I was tired of her giving me that disgusted look, because when it was time, I was unable to admit my feelings.

I never wanted to fall in love with anyone. I never wanted to mourn losing that person, especially as their still alive. I never wanted to live this cruel, miserable existence. Fuck you, Ian Gallagher, you made me love you.

**Hope you liked. Please leave a review!**


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